


if you could see it, then you’d understand

by MANIAvinyl



Category: Phan, Phandom, dan and phil
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Dan Howell Needs A Hug, Dan Howell/Phil Lester Comfort, Depressed Dan Howell, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Dan Howell, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Phan - Freeform, Phandom - Freeform, Phil Lester Has Anxiety, References to Depression, Sad Phil Lester, Video: Daniel and Depression, panic disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:20:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22236238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MANIAvinyl/pseuds/MANIAvinyl
Summary: There was a point in their relationship when Phil was stable enough for the both of them. But when his anxiety gets worse, he’s not sure how to handle anything; not his panic attacks, not Dan and his still-frequent episodes, and not all the new stresses that come with this kind of fast-paced life.
Relationships: Dan Howell & Phil Lester, Dan Howell/Phil Lester, Phil Lester & Martin Lester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 73





	if you could see it, then you’d understand

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Speed of Sound by Coldplay
> 
> Uhhh yeah so my brain spit this out over the course of a few months so here it is!

Phil’s eyes were fixed on the dark mahogany double doors. The lights in the hallway were dim, just barely reflecting off of the marble floors and long, artistic mirrors along the walls. 

He reached up to tug on the collar of his suit— it felt too tight. He never really felt comfortable in suits, and especially not ones of this quality. Yet that’s where he seemed to be finding himself these days. 

“Ready?” said Dan, next to him. Phil swallowed, and hesitated to respond.

It was just an afterparty. He’d been to countless afterparties— they tend to pop up when you’re a relatively well-known internet star. 

Yet he’d never had time to get used to them; he didn’t think he ever really could. 

“No,” murmured Phil.

“Come on,” said Dan, stepping forward to reach for the handle.

“No, wait,” Phil said quickly. “Wait.”

“Phil—“

“Just give me a minute.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “You’re stalling. Let’s just go inside.” He cracked open the door and the sound of voices grew much louder. Hearty laughter and shouting, music, dancing. There was a part of Phil that longed for that carefree bliss, but another part of him that couldn’t let him have it.

“Stop it,” Phil hissed, pushing the door closed. “I can’t, I’m not—“

Dan dropped his shoulders. “I’m going, Phil.”

A slow breath. “Okay.” Then, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Dan nodded, and Phil watched as he disappeared behind the deep red wood doors. 

Phil picked at the button on his sleeve; the emblem was one of those famous brands he should know. But he doesn’t.

He should be used to this by now. Award ceremony, afterparty. Award ceremony, afterparty.

But here’s the thing. It’s all been building up recently, the stress, the ceremonies, the producers and the meetings about the new cd, and he can tell he’s been on edge. _It’s_ been on edge.

“Fuck it,” Phil muttered, and shoved open the doors.

—

Phil was drunk. He knew it, but it didn’t matter. This was better than the shakiness he always felt, or the short-circuiting thoughts that usually accompanied these events. 

People were laughing, he realized. He didn’t know what they were laughing at but he joined in, too. The room was spinning.

—

“Phil, let’s go home,” he heard Dan’s voice, behind him. It was quiet, so Phil thought it was a miracle he could hear it over the noise at all. He turned slowly, eyes focusing on Dan’s shape. 

He looked good in that suit.

“Okay,” said Phil, voice a little slurred but he was sure he was masking it pretty well. 

“Come on. What—“ Dan swallowed. “How much did you have?”

“Not too much,” he said, words blending together. His eyes couldn’t focus on Dan. “Time’s it?”

“One a.m., let’s go, yeah?”

—

Phil swallowed as they stepped out of the cab. They were back in downtown, all the way across the city. The buzz had worn off a little, and took him out of his loopy state and back into the depressed one. Because that’s what this is, right? Depression?

No. Depression is what Dan has. Phil didn’t have that. 

“Why is this happening to me?” He whispered, eyes fixed on the puddle on the side of the street as the cab drove away. Dan looked over, surprised. 

“What’s happening?”

Phil looked down at his hands, and took a deep, shaking breath. A few raindrops were starting to fall.

He swallowed thickly, clenching his fists and looking up rigidly. Dan was staring now, a concerned, confused look on his face. 

“The drinking?” Dan suggested, and something in his voice sounded passive aggressive.

“No.”

“Then what? Phil, it’s cold outside.”

“Yeah.” He undid his tie and pushed through the door, into the lobby of their building. Dan followed, but Phil could tell he knew something was up. He turned around, after a moment, balling his tie up in his fist. His mind still felt buzzed, but it was that depressed feeling that was back again, that always came back after nights like these.

But what were nights like these? What was even wrong with him? In the broader sense, nothing. There was nothing fundamentally wrong; he was successful, he was likable, he was generally comfortable in his own skin. 

He was just _nervous_. Always, constantly. Like a choking feeling, like something was weighted on his chest, like he had to remind himself to stay alive, stay breathing. And he was getting exhausted.

He couldn’t find any logical explanation, though he’d tried, and all of this built up stress seemed to be starting to topple over. 

But... but he couldn’t be the broken one. Not when Dan was already struggling. So he shut his mouth, just like he’d always done, because Dan’s well-being seemed to be more important to him than his own.

—

The manager called, saying that the film had to be burned within the next week, which was a whole three weeks before Phil was planning on. The new project was turning out to be much more of a disaster than he though it would be.

Phil let out a breath, hanging up the phone and rubbing his eyes. He glanced out the window, out at the somewhat busy street that was already alive this early in the morning. 

His coffee tasted bitter on his tongue, and he set it down, frustration growing in the pit of his stomach. There was too much to do, and not enough time to do it. 

Phil spent the morning working, stitching together clips on his computer, setting up layouts and section orders, but it felt like it didn’t even matter. It wasn’t even making a dent in the workload. 

He tilted his head back, leaning it against the cushions on the coach. He should get Dan to help him. Where was Dan, anyway?

Phil set his computer to the side, and heaved himself up off the couch. He glanced at the clock, furrowing his eyebrows as he realized it’d been almost two hours of work.

That meant one of two things: Dan was still asleep, which is unlikely because it’s nearly midday now, or...

Phil twisted the handle to Dan’s room, pushing the door open. Sometimes he liked to sleep there when he was like this.

Empty.

He chewed on his lip, scanning the room; the bed was unmade, and laundry lay unfolded in the basket. Dan had left long before Phil had woken up.

“Fuck,” he muttered, hand running through his hair. There was so much work to be done, and Phil couldn’t do it alone. Why did Dan have to fuck off by himself _today_ , of all days?

Dan seemed to be doing this, going off on his own, more and more often. 

He picked up his own phone, calling Dan. He held it between his ear and his shoulder, bringing his computer over the the counter. It rang three times, and then he got the voicemail tone.

“Hey, Dan, it’s Phil. Stephen called, pushed the deadline way up. I... just, call me back, yeah? I’m kind of stressing out.” He paused for a moment. “Be safe, okay? Just text me, call me, whatever.” He sighed, taking his phone in his hand, and stared at the blinking light on the screen for a second before hanging up. 

—

Dan didn’t call back, and didn’t show up, not even twelve hours later. All Phil got was a _read message_ on one of his texts— not even the most recent one.

Phil was on his third mountain dew, still managing to string together some sort of coherent section in another part of the film. His own voice was starting to pound in his head. He shut his laptop screen, hating the burn of the LED in his eyes, in one big white square, even when he closed them.

Eventually he caved, quickly called one of their friends.

The phone rang once, the twice, then the line picked up. 

“Phil?” PJ’s voice crackled through the phone lines. 

“Yeah. Hi.”

“What’s up, man?”

“Um, nothing. Nothing, really. It’s just... you haven’t heard from Dan, have you?” Phil held his forehead in his palm. This was stupid. Of course PJ hasn’t heard from Dan.

“Uh, no, no I have not. Something wrong?”

“No. He does this a lot. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Yep. It’s nothing.” He let out a tight breath, standing at the counter. He flipped through some of the mail. 

“Are you— you sound stressed, man.”

“Lots of deadlines coming up. That’s all.” He grimaced at the rent payment check.

“Oh.” There was a pause. “Well, just call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I will. Thanks.”

He hung up, and Phil went back to flipping through the mail. The kitchen was dark, aside from the dim light from the living room.

But then he looked up, suddenly aware of the figure standing in the hallway across from the other room. Though it was just shadows, he recognized Dan immediately.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Didn’t even hear you come in.”

“Who was on the phone?” came Dan’s voice. It sounded sort of detached.

“PJ,” Phil told him. “You know, it’s who I call when you never bother to respond.”

Dan blinked, taking off his coat and hanging it on the railing of the stairs. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and it was so quiet that Phil had to strain to hear it. 

Phil swallowed. “It’s fine. You’re here now.”

Dan nodded, and walked across to reach for a glass of water.

Phil cleared his throat. “So,” he said.

“So,” Dan repeated.

“You got my voicemail. The, um, the deadline’s been pushed forward. We’ve got about eight days, Dan, to film the rest of the clips, and go through all the show material, and figure out the setups... fuck, there’s so much we have to do.” Phil stopped, pressing his lips together, setting the rest of the files down on the countertop.

“Why’s it been pushed?” Dan asked. 

“Don’t know. Something about the company they’re doing it through.”

Dan nodded, gulping the water down.

Phil moved towards the hallway that went to the bedrooms.

He wanted to ask where Dan had gone, but he knew he wouldn’t get an answer. He never got answers, for any of this. 

He never really got answers for why Dan had what he had, why there was a darkness inside him that he couldn’t shake.

He never got answers for why his own heart always seemed to be racing when there was no reason for it. Why he always seemed to be more nervous than he should, in normal situations, with normal people.

“I’ve been working all day,” Phil murmured, shaking his head. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to sleep.”

“Okay,” Dan said, and again Phil heard that detached voice. 

Sighing, he left.

—

When Phil woke up it couldn’t have been later than one in the morning. He squinted at his phone screen, grimacing and trying to shut his eyes and drift off again. 

But he couldn’t. He bit his lip. Why did he drink that mountain dew?

Whatever, he thought. He figured maybe he’d get something done, just because he was awake.

So he made his way out to the kitchen, where he’d left his laptop, and almost flicked on the lights. He froze before he could, though, after something caught his eye.

Dan. Of course it was Dan— it was always Dan.

Sitting out in the cold, in the dark London night, on a balcony that was five stories up. Phil watched him for a while, both motionless, as the outside streets were motionless, as _everything_ was motionless.

Phil eventually made his was to the sliding glass door. It was shut.

He pushed it open slowly, watching Dan carefully. He didn’t even get a glance, all he got was a microscopic turn of the head, a tiny little jump, and then nothing. So Phil kept going, hating how loud the door was in the silent night air. Eventually he slid through, and then shut it once again. 

He was glad he wore a jacket, because the harsh wind sliced at his skin. 

Slowly, he sat down, next to Dan, sliding his legs under the steel bar so his feet dangled above the street, just like Dan’s.

There was a silence for a while, besides the slow whistling of the wind. Phil tilted his head, watching Dan as he stared out into the empty darkness, as the few dim city lights reflected off his warm brown eyes. Those eyes should never be as sad as they are.

So Phil didn’t ask where Dan had gone, because at the end of the day, he knew it didn’t matter. What mattered was right here, right now.

Dan’s seemed to have lived a thousand lives in the one life he was given. He’s seen a darkness that Phil could never imagine. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” asked Dan, and his voice was so soft, so quiet that Phil hardly registered it. 

“Too much caffeine,” he murmured. “You?”

Dan didn’t respond, he just looked at Phil once, then turned his head to stare back out at the city.

It broke Phil’s heart, how Dan looked at him, with eyes that looked so far away from him, even though he was right there.

“How far— where are you, um, with the film?” Dan asked. 

“I’d say about a tenth of the way through,” Phil said.

“That’s not bad.”

“Yeah.” When Phil looked ever again, though, his heart dropped. Dan was staring out into the black again, out into the street, over the city, as if he really wanted the darkness to swallow him up entirely. 

“Why do you look like that?” Phil asked, defeated. “You can’t— you can’t just _look_ like that, and, and not tell me why.”

“Look like what, Phil,” Dan muttered, shifting. 

“Like,” Phil swallowed, continuing. “Like you just want to disappear.”

“I don’t want to disappear.”

“Well— okay.” Phil picked at his fingernails. “Well, that feels hypocritical, because you kind of did disappear. Today. So.”

He heard a shaky exhale, and suddenly felt terrible. Before Dan could respond, Phil spoke quickly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“No, it’s true.” Dan whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t— I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Yeah, well...” Phil picked at his nails again. “I _was_ worried. I _am_ worried.”

Dan didn’t respond to that, and for some reason, guilt flooded Phil. None of this was Dan’s fault, and still it seemed that nothing Phil was doing was helping. He sighed, standing up.

“I’m going back inside,” he told him quietly, though it was obvious. Dan just nodded, and then Phil turned away. 

Before he shut the glass door, though, he looked back.

“Come in soon,” he murmured. “It’s cold out here.”

—

It was some press conference, some interview thing that they really didn’t have time for, but since this all was planned months ago, they had to attend. 

To make things even better, it was a six hour plane ride across the Atlantic to New York. 

Dan seemed better— less dull than a few days ago. Depression was strange like that. He was lively now, talking to the people next to him on the flight, remembering to text their friends in New York for dinner. He didn’t mention the other night. He never mentioned it. 

The rest of the day was long, and jet lag wasn’t fun. They stopped in their hotel room before the event, unloading their suitcase and laptops; they needed to make use of as much time as they could. 

“Got your suit?” asked Dan, from by the closet.

Phil looked up, surprised. “Yep. What time’s it?”

“Almost four, eastern time,” Dan said. “Should start getting ready soon.”

Phil nodded. He sighed, plugging his his charger and staring at the bright screensaver. He used to find the image of space calming, but now he just found it lonely. He shot a glance out the window; the managers had booked one of the nicest hotels in Midtown. He still couldn’t really get his mind around that, or the fact he was relatively well-known enough to deserve this.

—

“We know you’ve always been supportive of mental health, and of those who call themselves your ‘followers’, but you’ve never been very open about your own struggles. Why is that?”

Phil instinctively looked to his left, at Dan as he processed the question. He blinked, looking up. The flash look of regret and confusion on his face was enough for Phil to cut in.

“His own struggles?” Phil echoed, letting the frustration seep through into his voice. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He could hear Dan beside him, quietly telling him to stop, but he shook his head.

“I— I just meant—“

“Yeah, no. That’s a sort of invasive question, is it not?“ Phil kept his voice light, but the cold anger showed anyways. “Do you really think it’s your place to ask about that?”

The reporter hesitated, looking off camera to one of his associates. Phil rolled his eyes.

“Stop it, Phil,” Dan whispered, hitting the back of his hand against Phil’s thigh. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s—“

“Yeah, um, good question,” Dan interrupted, ignoring Phil. “No, it’s— it’s, well, everyone has their own struggles, right? I just don’t like to talk about myself any more than I already do.” He laughed, and the reporter laughed, too. 

Phil swallowed, looking around the room. It was a small recording studio, but there were about eight tech people behind the camera. He studied them for a moment. They all looked young— younger than him and Dan, at least. College students, or something. He suddenly felt closed in, like the door was locked. 

His limbs were tingling, and he kept feeling the need to glance towards the doors, or the windows. His breath was catching up to him, and it was all getting to be too much.

But he couldn’t just leave, not when they’d had this interview scheduled for months, so he swallowed thickly and pushed through— despite the churning in his stomach, despite the sparks of frustration, and despite the walls that seemed to be caving in.

—

“What the hell was that?” Dan muttered, once they were alone. They were in the hallway that connected the elevator to the lobby in their hotel, but it was private enough to speak. 

“What was what?” Phil answered passively.

“You! This is ridiculous. What you _did_ was ridiculous. You can’t just... snap at press like that.”

“I didn’t snap at anyone,” he muttered. “It was a shitty question to ask.”

“Yeah, I know, but I can handle it. That’s not the point.”

“Well, then, what _is_ the point?” Phil said angrily, turning to face Dan, finally. 

“You! What is wrong with you? You’ve been acting different recently, and I’m not about to deal with it.” Dan wasn’t even looking at Phil anymore, just somewhere over his head. “You’re just angry— you flip out at random little things, and I’m not going to get involved. Come on, man. Last week you got so drunk you couldn’t stand. Just— just figure yourself out. Because this,” Dan gestured at Phil, “Isn’t my problem.”

Fury rose up Phil’s spine. But then something in him struck a chord, and the fury turned to resentment and dull, throbbing sadness. 

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he whispered. “I’m— I’m going out. I’m not going back to the room.”

Dan stood for a moment as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. 

“Then where are you going?” The question was said more like a passive sentence, as if in ridicule. 

Anxiety rose in Phil’s stomach.

“I don’t know. I want to be alone right now.” He felt his gaze— and his voice— grow cold, and Dan seemed to get the message. 

“Jesus, Phil,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Figure yourself out.”

—

They were right, Phil mused. New York City really doesn’t sleep at night. The streets were alive with noise and light, and windows of bars, strip clubs, and hotels danced with movement. 

He shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered. He was sure he crossed the same street at least three times, but he wasn’t really paying attention to that. His mind was elsewhere. Actually, it was everywhere.

He thought about Dan, and love and fear, and how those two seemed to go hand in hand. He thought about depression, and what it was— chemicals, ultimately, but rooted in something much, much deeper. Even scientists couldn’t really figure it out.

He loved Dan. He did. But their love was something beyond that— beyond love itself, yet there always seemed to be something in the way. They were chasing the unattainable, it seemed to Phil; true, easy love didn’t really exist. There was fear, and struggle, and then maybe in the end you might get lucky. And that was it.

He felt something like burning anger deep in his chest. Dan was acting as if Phil’s issues weren’t his problem, as if Phil hadn’t been dealing with Dan and his mental illness for years.

He looked out at the people on the streets and realized, in a dull, tired way, that he was still wearing his tux. Yet he still fit in here, on the streets of New York City, with the late-night businesspeople who are still trying to make it, with the drag queens putting on their shows, and with the sleazy druggies roaming the alleyways— who all seemed to blend together. 

_Figure yourself out._ Dan’s words echoed between his ears. Maybe he was right. Maybe Phil really was fucked up, much more than he thought, and he really needed help this time. 

No. Phil couldn’t be the fucked up one. It was just an off-week, he was just on edge this week, it was just nerves acting up.

They were the same lies he’d been telling himself his entire life, but they were much more relevant now, which gave rise to another question— were things getting worse? They had to be, right? Otherwise Dan wouldn’t have said anything, otherwise Phil wouldn’t feel like he’s dying every time he walks into a busy room, otherwise there wouldn’t be any problems.

He swallowed thickly, past the lump in his throat that had been there for God-knows how long, and sat down on an empty bench on the side of the street. 

As he gazed around the dark, busy night, though, instead of the mild comfort, he felt prying, burning eyes on him. And maybe it was all in his head— it probably was all in his head— but slowly he felt as if he were being watched. 

Nervously, he glanced around, stiffening as he saw a group of people turn to look at him. Fingers pointed, and somewhere in the mix he heard a laugh. A camera click. 

His world seemed to zoom out of focus. What if they recognized him? They _would_ recognize him, and then it would be posted online, that Amazingphil was out in the streets of NYC at one in the morning— and then what would he do? Dan would see. God, Dan. What was going on? His reality seemed to be crumbling before his eyes.

Phil felt his heartbeat flutter in his chest before anything else. It was a short burst, and then fear flooded his body. It had to be a heart attack, he thought frantically, as his chest started to rise and fall quicker and quicker. 

He gripped the panels of the bench until he was sure his knuckles were white, and shut his eyes. He really had to freak out now, of all times. 

The panic only seemed to rise, bubbling in his throat until he was sure it was going to choke him. His limbs tingled, and it felt as if his leg was falling asleep, but all over his body.

He buried his face in his hands, listening to the rush of blood in his ears as his pulse steadily sped up.

It made him want to vomit, but he was sure if he even moved a muscle he would set it off again. So he sat still, not daring to move, as his lungs started to draw in air faster and faster.

There was nothing he could do to stop it. He was spiraling, and he could feel it, almost as if he were watching his body from the outside. 

But then slowly, like waves crashing on the shore, it passed. His chest rose and fell in normal intervals again, his pulse steadied, and his mind cleared. He didn’t know how long it had been, he just knew that he never wanted to feel like that ever again. His head was swimming. 

It took him another half hour to summon the strength to get up off the bench. His skin was starting to sting in the sharp New York cold. 

He found a nearby hotel, booked a room, stumbled up the lift, and collapsed in the double bed, shoes and suit and all, and passed out. 

—

He woke up around midday with a kind of mild pain in his heart that he couldn’t quite place. The sky outside was blue and sharp, piercing his eyes. He vaguely remembered that his flight was this morning. He’d miss it.

His phone was dead anyways, so even if Dan has tried to call him, it wouldn’t go through. 

His throat seemed to be filled with empty anger. If Dan really loved him, he wouldn’t say shit like he did. People who love each other don’t say that.

—

He checked out of the hotel in the afternoon, and seemed to wander the streets for another hour. He wasn’t entirely sure if his head was screwed on right. 

He found a TJ Maxx and bought a change of clothes— the suit was getting itchy. So as he stood there on the corner of 15th and Main, with the gentle afternoon breeze blowing in a gust of smog and smoke into his face, he felt everything snap. But he couldn’t cry— he felt too raw to cry. 

After turning around and pushing into the convenience store around the corner, he bought himself a phone charger. 

A worker walked up to him after a while, a look of annoyance on her face, as he sat on the floor of one of the isles.

“What are you doing?” she asked him, but it seemed like more of a smug statement than a question.

“Charging my phone,” came the muttered response. “I just need a few more minutes.”

“You’re British.”

He looked up at her. “Yeah.”

“Strange. Well, you better leave in fifteen minutes. No loitering policy.” 

His phone was only 30 percent charged when he left the convenience store. He had so many missed texts and emails, but he didn’t even bother to catch up on them all. He didn’t care enough. 

Instead he scrolled through his contacts to his brother’s number.

It rang once, and then he picked up.

“Hey, Phil?”

“Yeah. Hi.” He swallowed.

“Where are you?” Martin chuckled. “You always seem to be somewhere different these days.”

“New York City,” Phil murmured. 

“I see.”

“Yeah.” He inhaled shakily. “Martin, I—“ he cut off, suddenly exhausted. Everything was just too much.

“Uh... are you okay?”

“Like... no. I don’t know. I missed my flight.”

“With the number of miles you and Dan have, I’m sure you could just go book another one. No worries.”

“I guess.”

“Or... I could do it for you, if you want. Just... JFK to Heathrow?”

Phil swallowed. “Uh. Sure. Yeah.”

“Just the two of you, I assume?”

Phil wanted to laugh. “No. Just me. Just one ticket.” The tone of his voice must’ve told Martin to not ask.

There was a pause on the other line, some clicking, and the Martin cleared his throat. “The next one you can make is tomorrow afternoon.”

Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, he felt his heartbeat start to pick up steam. 

“Martin—“ he said quickly, hoping the fear doesn’t seep through his words. “That’s— that’s too late. There’s no other ones?”

“Uh... Phil, it’s okay... I can call the airlines. Just sit tight...?” Martin sounded bewildered, and not without reason. Phil was never this way.

It was then that Phil really noticed that something was wrong with him.

The line hung up after a moment, and Phil leaned back against the concrete walls. People walked in both directions on the sidewalk in front of him, busy, invested in their own heads, own lives, own jobs. They don’t even see him.

Yet— they all saw him. He was a part of the background of everyone’s day. The concrete jungle loomed hundreds of feet above his head, dangerous, as if the whole world could crumble in an instant. 

As if in on instinct, his fingers opened his messages app. Dan had only texted him twice. He didn’t know why he found himself disappointed, as if he expected more.

Familiar empty rage filled his chest as he remembered his and Dan’s argument. It wasn’t fair, and the simple fact that Dan didn’t realize it was a problem in itself.

The first text was to remind him of the flight, and the second one was to tell him that Dan was leaving. There was nothing else.

The man he was supposed to love is three thousand miles away across the Atlantic ocean, and with so much as two texts. It made Phil want to throw up.

—

The whole next day, and the entire flight back to London, Phil thought about what he was going to say to Dan. How could he do this to him? How could he be so selfish? Phil was supposed to be his partner. His problems were their problems— that’s how it had always been, at least when Dan‘s at his lowest.

Phil seemed to realize that his nerves were completely shot, that even the sight of New York City drifting further away from the plane started up the stressed feeling once again. 

His solution was to down four sleeping pills, and that was it. There’s nothing more of the plane or airport that he can remember. 

He came into general consciousness as he stumbled out of the Uber and through the gates of their house. The movement of light on the inner side of the curtains told him that Dan had the television on. Hurt burned through his stomach again, and he almost turned around to call for the Uber to take him someplace else, but the car had already driven away.

It was cold outside, as it always was late at night in London, and Phil’s thin sweatshirt with the words New York City on the front was not doing the job. He started shivering, but something in him stopped him from opening the door.

The sound of his stomach growling, and the feeling of his skin inside of his sleeves forming goosebumps because of the cold, and the numb exhaustion that always came after sleeping with melatonin pills, seemed to all crash at once. 

He never called his brother back to thank him for booking his flight. 

He’d written everything down that he wanted to say to Dan, but he didn’t even have the strength to knock on the door. 

He was starving, cold, angry, and... sorry. 

The water mains seemed to burst behind his eyes, for the first time in who knows how long, and his strong facade crumbled into nothing. His legs gave out and he found himself sobbing on the freezing concrete inside the gates of their house. 

Nothing was right, and he didn’t know how to fix any of it. So, with the last amount of clear thought he had left, he allowed the situation to take control of him, and everything fell apart.

When Dan finally opened the door, letting the pale light from their hallway flood out onto the cold pavement Phil was sitting on, he felt himself shatter. 

“Jesus Christ,” Dan muttered, and even though his words were bitter, his voice was gentle.

Phil only lifted his hands to cover his face, and cover the pain he was in from the one person who was supposed to be fixing it.

“Phil— Phil, just... just come inside.” It was evident how nervous Dan was. “Phil, I—“

“Stop talking,” Phil choked, not moving from his spot on the concrete. Of course, he didn’t really want Dan to stop talking. He wanted him to push back, tell him no, like a twisted test to see if Dan really cared. 

But Dan only nodded, standing there in the doorway as Phil found the strength to lift himself up off the ground and stumble inside. Resentment burned in his chest, telling him he should’ve never come home. 

Phil sat down at the dining table. He wasn’t crying anymore, but it just seemed like there was something dead in his heart that he didn’t know how to revive. Dan made him tea, and a slice of toast, all without saying a word, and then went to turn back to the couch in the living room. But just before he did so, he turned back around to look at Phil, who watched him with careful eyes. 

“Phil, I—“

“Don’t say anything.” Phil swallowed, taking a pause and shutting his eyes. “I wrote down everything I wanted to say to you but... I’m not going to say it.”

“What?”

“Dan... I... it doesn’t matter now.” Phil sighed shakily, pulling out his phone. It was on ten percent. “I’m pushing back the deadline. I don’t care if we get the video out late. And then... I’m going up to my brother’s house.” Guilt gnawed at his heart, because deep down he knew Dan relied on him more than he let on. But then again... maybe he didn’t. Maybe Phil didn’t know anything anymore.

Instead of arguing, Dan just said, “okay,” and then went back to the living room. His fight was gone because he didn’t see the reason to push back.

—

At some ungodly hour of the early, early morning, Phil heard a knock on his door. It’s not like he was sleeping anyways. He swung his legs around, sitting at the side of his bed, letting his eyes adjust to the warm light that shone in as Dan pushed the door open.

“Dan?” he murmured.

“Who else would it be?” Dan whispered, familiar dry humor and a look of raw guilt on his face. 

Phil didn’t have it in him to smile. 

“Okay.” Dan inhaled slowly. “Listen, I— I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? What are you sorry for, Dan?” Phil let frustration seep into his words. “Because I can’t do this anymore.”

“I know.”

“Dan, I— I worry about you. I look for you when you’re gone, I take care of you when you’re here, and... I don’t know.”

“Stop it.”

“I had another panic attack,” Phil muttered.

Dan’s face fell. “Phil...”

“No. You weren’t there. You told me to figure myself out.”

“I know. I got scared—“

“Stop making excuses,” Phil said, exhausted. “I get scared every time you leave, Dan. I get scared when people come up to the door when you’re gone, because I’m afraid that one day it’ll be a police officer, telling me that you’re dead because you jumped from the london bridge, or hung yourself in the bathroom of some bar... this isn’t fair to me, Dan. And then for you to tell me to figure myself out? I can’t— I can’t do this, honey.”

“I know.”

“You say ‘I know’ and awful lot for somebody who clearly doesn’t.”

“I’m trying,” Dan whispered. “It’s not easy for me. I know it’s not easy for you either, but—“

“But I don’t have depression. Is that what you were going to say?”

Dan’s face was blank.

Instead of responding, Dan nervously moved closer, and then sat next to him. His body was warm, and something in Phil wanted to melt into him forever. But he couldn’t— not right now.

He didn’t move his head, just shifted his eyes towards the floor.

“Dan, there is nothing in the world that you could come up with that‘s an excuse for you to stop caring about your friends.”

Only then did he glanced to his right, at Dan as he picked at his fingers. 

“Okay.”

“I’m going to be real with you right now,” Phil whispered. “Because I know you can handle it.”

Dan just nodded.

“This cannot happen again. It’s not okay to do what you did.”

“I’m sorry,” Dan whispered back, words cracking. “I know.”

“Okay. Then that’s it.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to say anything else about it. You’re not going to say anything else, either. Just... prove to me that you can do this.”

“Are you going up to your brother’s?”

Phil hesitated. “I don’t know yet.”

Dan swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”

Phil tilted his head back, taking a deep breath. “I love you. I hope you know that. There are only a few people in this world that could leave me in New York City for a day that I wouldn’t hate forever.”

He felt Dan wince— or maybe it was an ironic laugh. And then Phil leaned back, telling Dan something else, about not taking up the entire bed, and that was that.

—

When Phil woke up, the sheets next to him were cold. That same, familiar, sinking feeling hollowed his chest and he sat up quickly.

The hardwood floor was cold even through his socks, and he took a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders.  
Phil walked through the hallway, the one that led from the main bedroom to the living room, and something seemed to crawl in his stomach. 

Before he knew what was happing his body seemed to be thrown into overdrive. He shouted Dan’s name, between quick, shallow breaths. Like maybe if he breathed fast enough he could suck enough oxygen out of the air. 

He gripped the edge of the countertop until his knuckles turned white, and he tried like hell not to focus on the way his heart beat far too out of time.

And then the front door opened.

“Dan?” Phil forced out once more.

“I’m right here!” Dan said, voice cheery, and Phil knew he was smiling. “Come on, why would I go anywhere this early in the morning?”

Some sort of aching relief flooded Phil’s system and he shut his eyes. It calmed the panic enough for him to think straight again. Dan didn’t go anywhere, he told himself. He’s right here.

But he didn’t have the breath in his lungs to respond, and immediately he could feel Dan’s expression change from upbeat to alarmed.

Phil felt the tightness in his chest release a little bit as he gazed at Dan through blurry eyes. His shape looked defeated all of a sudden, even here, but Phil didn’t have it in him to be the supportive one anymore. Not right now. He took in a shuddering breath and leaned against the back of the couch, feeling the pressure as it grounded him just enough.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered, hardly audible. He was sure Dan couldn’t hear it. He lifted his hands up to run his fingers under his eyes, catching any tears that might’ve fallen.

“What?” said Dan, sounding confused.

“You can’t keep doing this to me,” Phil said, voice pitching up like he was going to cry. But he didn’t, he just breathed through it, then looked back at Dan. 

“Doing what?” Dan snapped. “I went downstairs for the mail. That’s it.” He held up the few letters.

“N-no, no, not... not that.” Phil tilted his head backwards, stifling his nerves. “Not that. It’s not your fault, I’m sorry, this...” He trailed off.

Dan stared for a moment, eyes brows furrowing. “Where did you think I was going?” He asked bitterly, and started walking towards the kitchen. The question was mostly rhetorical, but Phil swallowed and answered anyways.

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Phil muttered. “I never know. I’m never told anything.”

“Oh, you _cannot_ be mad at me for this. This is your fault.”

“Jesus Christ,” Phil said through gritted teeth. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Dan froze. “What on Earth are you talking about?” he muttered, even though Phil was sure he knew. It was the unspoken tension that hung in the air, that hung over them even as they slept last night, that maybe things will never be okay again. Or, worse, maybe they were never okay in the first place.

“I do so much for you,” Phil said, eyes filling with frustrated tears once again.

Dan was silent. The tension had been cut.

“We have to hide this,” Phil whispered, motioning between him and Dan. He stepped forward. “Us. I do that for you. I Everything I do is for you, Dan, even though that’s not what matters. I don’t ask anything in return, ‘cause Christ... you love me. That’s all I really want. That’s all I can ask for, but... I’m tired, honey. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m just so tired. Not of you, just of... of... I don’t know. Of this stress.“

Dan clearly didn’t know what to say, he just stood there staring at Phil with his mouth open like he was trying to form words but couldn’t.

“I’m not stable enough anymore,” Phil whispered weakly, and he knew what he was saying was the truth. He knew it deep down in his soul. “I love you, I do, but I can’t do this anymore.”

“You’re leaving.” Dan’s voice sounded detached.

“I was already going to leave,” Phil murmured.

“I thought we could work through it,” Dan said, and it almost sounded desperate, like a far-off plea.

“I have had three panic attacks in the last forty-eight hours, Dan,” Phil said softly. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m— I’m working myself up too much.”

“Oh, God, it’s my fault,” Dan whispered.

“No, stop it.” Phil bit his lip.

“It is. I did this to you.” Phil could see tears in Dan’s eyes. “God, I’m so, so sorry.”

“I said stop it. It’s not your fault. The deadline, the touring, the awards shows... _that’s_ what has me stressed out, not you.”

“But you always have to worry about me,” Dan explained slowly, like he was explaining it to himself for the first time, too. 

Phil sighed, shaking his head, resigned. “I love you, Dan. I promise I love you. I just need some air right now, okay?”

Dan nodded, and Phil didn’t have it in him to meet his eyes.

“Call me if you need me,” Phil murmured finally. “I’ll be back soon.”

—

He noticed that his stomach had that same empty feeling that it did when he walked around New York. That aching, empty feeling, that something was wrong that they just couldn’t really fix.

He wasn’t stable. Maybe at some point in the past, he was, but not now. And no matter how much he wanted to put Dan first, put Dan’s needs above his own like he’d able to do for the last almost-decade, he couldn’t.

So he stopped at a coffee shop, bought some breakfast and a decaf coffee, and sat down at a quiet table. The rich, soothing smell of coffee beans drifted through the room, and it reminded him of calmer times. He glanced up, out the window, at the busy street. All the people rushed off, like they had somewhere to be, and he remembered that it was a Tuesday, and that the working class actually did have somewhere to be. He swallowed a sip of his coffee, letting his mind wander for a moment. Maybe life would be easier if he were like all of them. 

No. Every person out there has their struggles. Every person he saw through that foggy window had a life as complicated and intricate as his own. 

That reminded him. He never called Martin back to thank him for booking the flight.

After he finished his muffin he threw his coat back on and started to walk back down the chilly street, warm coffee in hand, and then rang up his brother.

“Hey,” said Martin.

“Hey,” Phil murmured. There was an extra moment of silence before he continued. “Thanks for... for yesterday. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

“Okay, no worries,” Martin said. Phil knew he was suspicious of something. But before he could respond, his brother spoke. “Can I ask you something?”

Phil swallowed, stepping over a puddle in the road. “Yeah, sure.”

“What’s going on? With you, I mean. I don’t mean to pry, or anything, but... you sounded weird on the phone yesterday, and you sound weird now—“

“I sound weird right now?” Phil asked, interrupting, genuinely curious but also sort of worried. Was he really that messed up?

“Not as weird as yesterday, but... yeah?”

Phil took a sip of his coffee, then took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. “I don’t know what to fucking do.”

He told Martin about everything, about when the panic attacks really started— over the tour— and how they’ve only gotten worse. He told him about Dan, and how he’s still not stable, either, and he has mood swings that leave him irrational and depressed and suicidal. Still, after all these years of therapy and healing. He told him about the events in New York, and his lowest moment as he cried on the cold sidewalk of their house before Dan had opened the door.

And Martin... Martin just listened. He didn’t give any advice, just support and an outlet to let Phil organize his thoughts towards his anxiety disorder and Dan. And how the balance had been broken.

—

He loved Dan. That much he knew. It was just as strong ten years in as it was one year in. His heart still melted when he heard Dan’s laugh— his real laugh, and he still wanted to crawl into those warm brown eyes until the end of eternity.

But love was more complicated than that. And if Phil couldn’t support himself, if he broke apart at any stressful situation, everything else needed to be put on hold.

He needed to go back home. That was it. He needed to be somewhere familiar again because central London was starting to feel awfully strange, and he needed to be with people who were steady because Dan sure as hell wasn’t. He loved him, but he wasn’t steady.

He needed to be back up there, in the north, where the air was fresh and the people were honest and true, and the back roads were ones he had traveled before.

—

It started raining as he walked home, and Phil found it difficult to keep himself optimistic. He stepped over a puddle and caught a glimpse of the gray, darkening sky above him, and he found himself with that empty, aching feeling once more. 

He wanted to be with Dan forever. He wanted to run away, move to some distant coast where none of this mess could follow them. He wanted to live by the sea, listen to the crash of the waves on the shore and watch the sunset over the great blue ocean. And Dan would be by his side just as he always has been. In this life and in every life before it. 

When he opens the front door, he sees Dan standing there, his silhouette dark against the light from the pale gray sky. When he turned around Phil swore he looked like an angel, with some sort of heavenly glow around his body, and Dan sort of knew that this image is one he’d save forever. 

“What?” Dan asked, staring back with some sort of sad confusion.

“Nothing,” Phil murmured. “I love you. That’s all.”

Dan blinked, and Phil was sure he saw a part of his wall crumble down. 

“I love you, too,” he whispered.

Phil walked up to him, then, dropping his coat on the ground by the door, and took both of Dan’s hands in his own. 

“After we figure all this out,” he said softly, “All of this shit in our heads, and everything else, we’ll go somewhere far away, by the sea, and we’ll forget about everything. I promise.”

For a moment Dan looked happy— or at least, in love. He reached up, wiping the rain from Phil’s temples.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Okay.”

Dan didn’t say anything after that. 

Phil sighed, resting his forehead on Dan’s shoulder. 

“It will be sunny, always, and the air will smell like salt and coconuts,” he whispered. “And we will be happy.”

“Phil...” Dan breathed. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know.”

“What are you going to do?” 

“I don’t know,” Phil repeated quietly.

“Go home? Go north?“

“I guess.”

“But you’ll come back.”

“Of course I’ll come back,” Phil said. “I always do, don’t I?”

He felt Dan laugh. Or maybe he was crying. Phil couldn’t tell, and he didn’t have it in him to check, so he just buried his face in the soft, familiar smell of Dan, and let himself relax. For once, in his fucking life, he let himself relax.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you’d like, please leave a comment bc I love hearing feedback!


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